


♞ The Dragonstone

by TheRainRogue



Series: The Dragonstone (Hobbit) [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRainRogue/pseuds/TheRainRogue
Summary: Ronan Sayers is the last of her people, the amlug rochben-noss, the Dragon-rider clan and as a child, she was rescued by Gandalf the Grey. Now, fourteen years later, the wizard calls upon her to aid him in protecting Thorin Oakenshield and his company of dwarves to reclaim the home that was taken from them by the dragon, Smaug. But with the darkness beginning to return and the orcs determined to end both the Durin line and the Dragon-rider line, their journey will not come easy.
Relationships: Thorin's Company & Original Character(s)
Series: The Dragonstone (Hobbit) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991221
Kudos: 2





	1. Introduction

###  **♞ Introduction**

So, I’ve recently watched the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit movies after seeing posts on my dash about them. It’s been so long for me that it was as if I was watching them for the very first time (it was the first for the Hobbit, though). I fell in love fairly quickly, of course, and I really wanted to write for it!

I know many people do not like fanfics that follow the main story, but this is my way of adding myself to the story as if I were truly there. I do not claim to own the story of Tolkien, I simply want to pretend that I was there with the characters and I figured I would share that with others, as well. This series will follow the movies, not the books as I have yet to read those.

I am not as well versed in Tolkien’s world as I wish I was, so if there’s any mistakes or inaccuracies, that’s why! I’ll do my best, though. Overall, this is just for fun, so don’t take it too seriously.

★ **Started** : 10/25/20  
★ **Completed** : TBD  
★ **Status** : On-Going  
★ **Point of View** : First/OC  
★ **Pairing** : ???  
★ **Genre** : Friendship, comedy, fluff, angst  
★ **Warnings** : Language, violence, death

###  **♞ Disclaimer**

The Hobbit was written by J. R. R. Tolkien and I do not own any of the locations or characters created by him. The only character I have rights to is Ronan Sayers and her backstory. This was not written to be published or to make a profit. This is strictly a fan work that was written for my own pleasure. I’m just a fan trying to insert myself into the wonderful world that this man created.

All rights reserved, no copyright infringement is intended.

###  **♞ Synopsis**

Ronan Sayers is the last of her people, the _amlug rochben noss_ , the Dragon Rider clan. Her people have been hunted for thousands of years, sought after to be used as weapons on either side of the war, but every time they refused and they paid the price for this. With Sauron attempting to return and the last of the clan refusing to join him, he makes the decision to destroy the bloodline.

The problem is that one survived, little Ronan who was only five at the time. Gandalf, who arrived too late to spare them, took the child and left her in the care of an old friend and skin-changer named Beorn. Though he wasn’t sure of this decision at first, he grew to love the child of man as his own.

Now, fourteen years later, the dwarven company led by Thorin Oakenshield plans to reclaim their homeland from the slumbering dragon, Smaug, and Gandalf calls Ronan in to lend a hand. She owes the wizard everything so she can’t bring herself to refuse his request, but she may just end up wishing she had.


	2. The Company

No single man can save the world. Even the chosen one would be unable to fulfil his destiny without the aid of others. Even those with small roles matter. A single person can change the tide of war and, whether for evil or good, no one can say. It is easy to feel as if your role is unimportant but that is simply fear trying to sway the battle in their favor. Most times, they succeed, but there are also times where they do not.

Being the chosen one within a story is a hard burden to bear but it is one that appears to others as something glorious and bold. Very few can handle this role but many seek it for the glory it brings. Those that bear this burden, however, wish for nothing more than to pass it on to someone else. We all have our roles to play, though, roles which can not so easily be given away to others.

There is a tale I would like to tell. While the chosen one appears quite frequently within this tale, the main character of this story is one whose role is not quite as great, but is still important nonetheless.

This tale follows a young woman named Ronan Sayers, a woman that hails from an all but forgotten ancient bloodline. No one is sure why or how she came to be the last in her bloodline, but it is apparent that she has a role to play in Bilbo Baggins’s tale, no matter how small that role may be.

* * *

A crash in the kitchen roused me from my sleep with a start, making me grunt in annoyance as I rolled out from under the covers. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, slipping past the large cow sitting in the stall. “Beorn, what did you break?”

The large skin-changer looked up from the pot sitting on the fire, giving me a sheepish look. “I apologize, I did not mean to wake you,” he glanced at the cup sitting on the floor, shattered into dozens of tiny pieces before he leaned down to clean it up.

“Let me,” I stifled a yawn, pushing his hand away as I kneeled down to pick up the small shards of ceramic.

“Today is the day,” he grunted, settling himself down at the table. He didn’t look too happy as he watched me drop the shards into the basket beside the sink.

“Is it?” I hummed, settling down across from him, glancing at the streams of sunlight coming through the cracks in the wood. “I’ll have to leave before noon to arrive when I’m meant to.”

Beorn frowned at me, his large fingers tapping against the wood. “Must you go? If Gandalf is involved, it will no doubt be dangerous.”

“You know I’m more than capable of handling myself,” I commented, sending him a look.

“Even the strong can fall in battle.”

I hummed. “Fair point. You know I owe him, though. I can’t reject his call for aid.”

He sighed, reaching his hand out to rest over my own. “Promise me you will return.”

My fingers gripped his as I offered him a grin. “I promise I will return. You do make the best smoked fish this side of Middle-Earth.”

Beorn chuckled, giving my hand a squeeze before standing up to check on the food. “I made some this morning to take with you. The herbs I have wrapped them in will keep them fresh for two days but the sooner you eat it, the better it will taste.”

“I told you not to go through the trouble.”

“It is no trouble,” he grunted. “I have raised you as my own since you were just a cub. Small things such as this are nothing,” he place a plate in front of me, a piece of fish sitting beside fresh carrots and a slice of bread. “Eat up. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

After I finished my breakfast, I headed outside with my bag slung over my shoulder. The morning was cool, the breeze soft as it ruffled through the trees. My horse, Durnahviir, was ready to go, stomping his hooves on the ground and shaking his head. He wasn’t fond of being in one place for long periods of time, but I needed him here with me for when Gandalf finally called. He wasn’t happy about this, of course, but he respected my orders.

Beorn stood in the doorway of our home, watching me with a frown etched onto his face. I sent him a smile before climbing onto my horse, eyes squinted because of the bright rays of light coming from the sun. Of all the days for there to not be a cloud in the sky, it would have to be the day I was leaving on a journey. What a pain.

“See you soon, Beorn,” I called, giving him one final look before lightly tapping my heel against Durnahviir’s side. He did not hesitate, taking off like a lamb being chased by a pack of wargs. The wind was cool as it whipped around my body, reminding me of a freedom I have not felt in ages. It’s been a long time since I was last on an adventure and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. Though, lazing around at home is also quite nice.

* * *

I traveled for several days before finally arriving in Bree, climbing down from my horse just outside of the town. My hand slid across his sleek black hair. “Listen closely, Durnahviir. I’m not sure how long I will be waiting for Gandalf’s arrival, so you roam freely for now. Do not go far, my friend.”

He snorted in response, tapping his nose against my cheek before turning around and darting off into the forest. I readjusted my bag before heading for the Prancing Pony, squeezing through various men and hobbits as they drank and chatted with one another. It’s been a couple of years since I was last in this place and yet it hasn’t changed a bit.

I stepped up to the counter, rapping my knuckles against the wood. “Can I get a room, a juice and some honey cake?”

“Sure thing, miss,” the bartender grinned, accepting the coins I offered him.

With a yawn, I headed to the back of the room, settling down in the corner to avoid the drunken rabble as they started to get feisty. How they could get so drunk so early in the day is beyond me. Then again, I’m not fond of being drunk at any time of the day.

“Here you are,” a woman stopped by the table, setting down a small square of honey cake and the juice I had ordered. “Give me a holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” I responded, sticking my fork into the cake as I scanned the room. I wonder how long he’s gonna make me wait before he finally shows up. It’s quite amusing because he often says that a wizard is never late, he arrives precisely when he means to, but he isn’t too fond when I’m late meeting with him.

I don’t even know what he wants from me. His letter simply stated that he needed to speak with me urgently because he had a job for me. No details were included, of course, because he prefers to give those in person. Well, there’s no use worrying about it now. I’ll find out when he arrives.

I downed the rest of my juice before stepping away from the table, heading up the stairs to the room printed on the key the bartender had given me. The bed wasn’t the most comfortable to lie upon, but it’s better than lying upon rocks and twigs. Another yawn tore from my lips as I rolled onto my side, eyes sliding closed.

I was out like a candle flame in a windstorm.

* * *

Something wet and hot slid across my face, bringing me quite violently from my dreams. I shot back, reaching for the sword lying beside me only to scowl when I noticed Durnahviir lying beside the bed, a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

“Just how in the dark realm did you get in here?” I demanded, rubbing the horse spit from my face with a disgusted look.

He huffed as if annoyed by the fact that I didn’t know how a large ass horse had made his way into a small room. I doubt the people downstairs would just stand aside to allow him entry and it was far too high off the ground for him to climb through the window.

“If I have to pay more because of this, I swear,” I muttered, throwing off the itchy blanket so I could stand and stretch my arms above my head. As I reached for my boots, I noticed something sitting upon his neck, tied to the reins. “What is this?”

He lowered his head so I could better reach the piece of parchment attached to the straps. I recognized Gandalf’s handwriting as if it were my own. It read the following:

> _‘My dear Ronan,_
> 
> _We will be passing by Bree in just a few short moments assuming Durnahviir does as he is instructed, though I have no doubt that he will. Do come quickly, we have a long journey ahead of us._
> 
> _Gandalf.’_

“Who is ‘we’?” I muttered, glancing at the black horse as if he held the answer but he only shook his head and started to root around in my bag looking for food. I’m starting to become used to not knowing what in the dark realm is going on around me and I’m not sure if I should be accepting it so freely.

I quickly gathered my things, slipping on my boots before turning to the problem at hand. That is, the giant horse currently eating the bread that Beorn had wrapped up for me. “I don’t know how you got in here, Durnahviir, but do find your way out so we can go. Quickly and quietly, understand?”

He chomped loudly on the bread before snorting and pulling himself to his hooves, shaking his head. For a moment, I watched him, wanting to know his secrets, but he clearly had no intention of moving while I watched.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” I muttered, pulling the bag closed before slinging it over my shoulder. When I noticed a couple out in the hallway, I quickly pulled the door shut behind me so they wouldn’t see him inside, but they were far too interested in each other, it seemed.

I weaved my way through the crowds of people downstairs. Despite how early it was, the room was still full of people, talking and laughing loudly as they spilled their ale on the floor and on themselves without much regard to those around them. Shaking my head, I dodged the hobbit that nearly rammed into me before pushing the door open, breathing in the fresh air of the morning.

To my surprise, Durnahviir was standing just outside, attempting to steal a loaf of bread from a woman that was standing nearby, her groceries held in her hands as she talked to another woman. My brow furrowed as I looked from him to the window of the room I had been staying in. “How in the… forget it,” I shook my head and quickly crossed the street, smacking his backside.

He neighed loudly in annoyance, snapping his head toward me. The women cried out in surprise, turning to look at him with wide eyes before scurrying away. Durnahviir looked to their retreating forms before back to me, annoyance clear in his dark eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. The last thing I need is to be arrested because you stole bread,” I scoffed, pulling myself up onto his back. “If you’re going to steal food, at least choose something more worthwhile than bread. Of all things.”

He neighed again as I took his reigns and he started toward the path separating the forest from Bree. Durnahviir took things into his own hands and I assumed he knew where the wizard was and it didn’t take long for me to come upon the man. Surprisingly, he was in the company of fourteen others – thirteen dwarves and one hobbit, each riding on a pony.

“There you are,” Gandalf smiled brightly as he stopped before you. “How was your journey, my dear Ronan?”

“It was fine,” I answered, sweeping my gaze across the group. They had come to a stop behind him, all of them staring at me as if they had never seen a woman before. “Your traveling companions are… an interesting choice, Gandalf.”

“Ah, yes,” he seemed to remember the group, turning his horse to the side so he could see them and myself. “Allow me to introduce you.”

And introduce them he did.

The first was Nori, a dwarf with star-shaped hair. Fili had a small beard, his mustache holding beads on each end. Dori had braided hair the color of snow after a few days in the dirt. Bofur wore a strange hat that seemed to defy gravity with hair to match. Gloin bore a red mane of hair and beard. Dwalin was bald and had many tattoos upon his skin. Balin seemed to be the elder, his fluffy hair and beard a soft white.

Oin had dark grey hair and a braided beard, streaked with white. Bombur was easily the largest, width wise, with long rustic orange hair in a large braid. Bifur had a mess of hair the color of night and tinted with silver, with an axe stuck in his forehead. Ori was the youngest, it seemed, his hair shaped like a bowl and braided in several places. Kili had hair the color of a raven, with a short beard to match.

And then there was the leader of their ragtag group – Thorin Oakenshield, whose brown hair fell in loose waves to his shoulders, a few streaks of grey adding to his character. Finally, there was the hobbit – Bilbo Baggins was his name. A short little thing with fluffy brown hair and an expression similar to that of a rabbit.

‘What a ragtag group. How did he ever come to be involved with them?’ I quirked a brow at the older male before turning back to them. “Nice to meet you all. My name is Ronan Sayers.”

Thorin nodded his head at me before looking to Gandalf with a confused expression, but the wizard merely smiled mystically. “Will you… be joining us on this journey?”

“I suppose so,” I answered with a yawn, rubbing the back of my neck. “I go where Gandalf asks me to, and he has asked me here.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” his eyes narrowed. “We will no doubt come across those who wish to stop us. The battlefield is no place for a lass.”

I clicked my tongue and Durnahviir started to turn his body toward the direction they had been moving in when we first met. I sent the wizard a blank look, which he returned with amusement. “If I have to listen to these dwarves talk about how women can’t fight, I swear to you, Gandalf, I will punt them off a cliff.”

“I think not, lass!” Dwalin snapped, his large hands clenching the reigns of his pony tighter.

I ignored him, tapping my foot against Durnahviir’s side. He started forward with a snort and I lifted my leg, letting it rest across his back. “You better keep them in line, Gandalf.”

“ _Keep us in line_ , the nerve of her!” Dwalin snapped. “You speak to the king under the mountain, lass, show some respect!”

I waved my hand over my shoulder, not looking back at them but I could hear their horses begin to follow. “Not my king, short one.”

“Now now, dear Ronan,” Gandalf’s horse walked beside my own and he gently patted me on the top of the head with his staff. “I imagine this journey will be quite taxing on its own. I do hope you will not make things more difficult for me.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the dwarves, getting a variety of looks in return. “I make no promises… but I will do my best if that is your wish. Now, would you care to explain why you are travelling with such company?”

* * *


	3. Five Wizards

For a moment, Gandalf looked out across the horizon before us and I suspected that he would not answer my query, but then he sent me a gentle smile, his dark eyes twinkling. When he finally spoke, his voice was lowered. “These dwarves are on a quest to reclaim the home that was forcefully stolen from them some time ago.”

“By whom?”

He hesitated. “By a _dragon_.”

My brows shot up at that. “Have they not long since fled to the Northern Wastes? I have not heard talk of dragons since I was a child and even then, it was simply tales told from the elders in my village.”

“They have. But it appears one has been left behind, slumbering within the Lonely Mountain for sixty years, give or take.”

“That long?” I exhaled, eyes narrowing. “If he has slumbered for so long without waking, why risk doing so? Dragons are a nasty business, that is one of the first things my father taught me.”

“Perhaps it is,” he nodded his head, taking a moment to prepare his pipe. “If Smaug should wake and side with the enemy, Middle-Earth would be doomed to a fate of death and destruction without end.”

“So you wish to destroy him before that can happen,” I guessed, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. A gentle breeze rolled by, the sun shining brightly as it peeked around a fluffy cloud of white. “Who is the enemy, then? The orcs?”

“And their master,” his eyes met mine, shimmering with the smallest hint of worry but he cut me off before I could further question the matter. “Let us not worry about that just now, though. The reason I have asked you to join us is for protection. It is true that the company of dwarves are strong and capable, but it would ease an old man’s mind to have that extra protection. Most especially for Bilbo,” his eyes shifted over his shoulder toward the hobbit who was riding in the middle of the pack.

I hummed, watching the wizard’s expression soften. “This hobbit… he is quite important to you.”

“As important as you are to me, my dear Ronan,” he smiled fondly, patting my hand with his own. No more words were shared between us after that, but the peace did not last long when the hobbit suddenly shrieked in surprise, making the group stop short.

“No, wait, wait, stop!” he cried. “Stop! We have to turn around.”

“What on earth is the matter?”

“I forgot my handkerchief.”

I sent him a deadpan look from the front of the pack before sighing. So this is what we can expect during this journey, then. This will be long and painful, I imagine.

“Here,” Bofur ripped a piece of cloth from his coat before smiling and tossing it toward the hobbit. “Use this.”

With a look of disgust, Bilbo caught it between his fingers, looking at it as if it were the single most horrid thing he had ever looked upon. This hobbit had clearly never left home before. It will be a serious adjustment for him and I wonder if he can survive the journey without ducking out early.

“Move on,” Thorin ordered before continuing through the grass, not sparing me a look as he passed by. The other dwarves laughed amongst themselves as they followed.

Gandalf sent me a look as he passed by and I nudged Durnahviir to walk at his side. And thus began our journey toward the Lonely Mountain.

* * *

We had set up camp for the night, half hidden under the rocky wall of the mountainside where the dwarves had started a fire to keep themselves warm and cook food. The sky was dark, light clouds acting as mere accents to the stars above. Several of the dwarves had fallen asleep already, snoring loudly like bears. It would not surprise me if half of Middle-Earth could not hear them.

I sat beside Gandalf as he smoked from his pipe, looking out across the sprawling landscape before us. My job was to keep them safe, so I acted as watchman, keeping my eyes and ears alert for any sign of an enemy getting too close. My eyes followed Bilbo as he stood up from his bed on the ground, stretching his short arms above his head before heading over to where the horses were tied up.

Durnahviir was missing, of course. He would never let me know the end of it if I were to tie him up like some common horse and he could already be quite the pain to deal with sometimes. Every now and then I could hear the sound of his hooves as he explored around us, helping to keep watch.

The screech of orcs and the howls of wargs filled the air and I stood, hand resting on the hilt of my sword as my eyes scanned the landscape. They didn’t sound too close, but it could be hard to tell with the way sound echoed within the mountains. At the very least, if Durnahviir had seen them nearby, he would be back by now.

“What was that?” Bilbo quickly moved closer to the camp, fear in his voice.

“Orcs,” Kili answered simply.

“Orcs?” Bilbo nearly sprinted the rest of the way toward the dwarves, face now betraying the worry that lingered beneath.

Thorin snapped from his sleep as the ruckus, sitting up fully as he shook his head to rid the last of sleep from his body which was rigid and tense. Whether from sleep or the possible threat linger upon the air, I couldn’t be sure.

“Throat-cutters,” Fili added with a smirk. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The lone-lands are crawling with them.”

“They strike in the wee small hours when everyone’s asleep,” Kili continued quietly, as if telling a ghost story. “Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood.”

Bilbo turned away in fright and the two dwarves exchanged amused grins, clearly satisfied with the results of their teasing. I rolled my eyes at them, stepping closer to the edge so I could look out among the trees and rocks. They would not be in such a joking mood if they knew just how dangerous orcs could be.

Flashes of my childhood came to my mind. The screams of my people, full of fear and distress. The howls and laughter of the orcs as their blades slid through flesh and their flames ate away at the buildings. It all happened so quickly and without warning. Or perhaps there had been warning, but we failed to see it. They had been at peace for the first time in so many years. Perhaps they got slack in their duties. Or perhaps…

My hand tightened around the handle of my sword and I took a shaky breath, allowing the horrid memories to fade from my brain, along with the smells of death and rot that came with them.

“You think that’s funny?” Thorin stood to his feet, a calm anger lacing his tone as he sent a stern look to the younger dwarves. “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

Kili shook his head, the amusement long gone from his expression. “We didn’t mean anything by it…”

“No, you didn’t,” Thorin muttered as he walked away from them. “You know nothing of the world.”

I glanced at Gandalf over my shoulder, who returned my look with one of understanding and knowing. Without a word, I was sure he knew that I agreed with the small king’s sentiments. He had been there that day, after all. The wizard had seen the same death and destruction as I. The only difference is that he had not spent his entire life with them, day in and day out. He had not lived there, he did not understand the pain that came from it.

He did, however, understand the pain of losing one he called a friend – my father. The pain of finding me clutching onto his maimed corpse, begging and pleading for him to return to me, to not leave me alone in such a cold, unforgiving world.

Balin stood up from where he had been lying, giving the two boys a gentle smile. “Don’t mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most… to hate Orcs.”

The two shared a look, frowns upon their faces as they looked upon their king’s back, tense as it was beneath his clothing.

Balin continued. “After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain… king Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race – Azog the Defiler. The giant gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began… by beheading the king.”

My hand fell away from my sword as I turned to look at the king, his hands held behind his back. Though I could not see his face, I could most certainly recognize the pain that lingered there. My hand came up to rest upon my left wrist where the mark of my bloodline lay, burned into my skin with black ink from a time before I took my first breath.

“Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief,” he continued. “He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed… we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when…” a warm smile came upon the old dwarf’s face as he turned his gaze toward Thorin. “…I saw him. A young dwarf prince… facing down the pale orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day, that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.”

Respect and wonder flashed across the young dwarves faces as they looked between their king and Balin. The others had woken up sometime during the story, as well, listening intently to his words.

“Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. And our enemy… had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night… for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then… there is one who I could follow. There is one… I could call king.”

The others slowly stood up, their gazes on the one they called king as he slowly turned around to face them, his dark eyes scanning their faces. His lips parted before closing, eyes shining with emotion as he tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, he started toward the group, keeping his arms behind his back.

Bilbo looked at him for a moment before turning toward the grey-haired dwarf. “And the pale orc? What happened to him?”

Thorin growled out, “He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

It was subtle, but Gandalf and Balin exchanged a silent look. My brow quirked as I looked between them, catching the wizard’s gaze. He shook his head and I knew that I would get no answer from him, at least not now. A heavy sigh escaped him and it made me wonder if the pale orc truly is as dead as the king seems to believe him to be.

* * *

Rain steadily poured down upon us as we made our way across the land, soaking us all to the bone. I was not fond of the rain, not enjoying the way it weighed down my clothes and slowed my movements or the way it made it harder to hear of things that may be lurking in the distance. Durnahviir, on the other hand, was living it up. He enjoyed the rain almost as much as he enjoyed his freedom and he purposefully splashed his hooves into large puddles, spraying water and mud across the other horses and their riders.

This earned me several dark looks from the dwarves and a chuckle from Bofur who enjoyed the playfulness and attitude of the steed.

“Control your ruddy horse!” Dwalin barked when a particular splash left his face full of mud. His thick fingers swiped across the mud, slinging it onto the ground beside him.

My hand were not even on the reigns, my arms folded across my chest as I sent him a neutral look. “Durnahviir is not some pony to be ordered around. If you wish to try, you are more than welcome, dwarf, but I assure you that it will not end well for you.”

“Is that a threat, lassie?” his eyes narrowed, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for his weapon.

“It is a simple warning, dwarf. He is much like the child of a king – used to getting his way and quite unruly. He does not take being told he cannot very well.”

“He is a horse! His job is to listen to his masters command,” the dwarf huffed before muttering beneath his breath. “If my master were a lassie I would not listen, either.”

Durnahviir snorted angrily, whether because of the first comment or the second, I can not be certain. I clicked my tongue when the horse began to turn toward the dwarf, who was no longer paying any mind to us, and he reluctantly continued on his original path. Though his hooves stomped less playfully upon the ground beneath him.

“Here, Mr. Gandalf,” Dori called from the back of the back, a black cloak covering his head as he tried to avoid the rain. “Can’t you do something about this deluge?”

“It is raining, master Dwarf…” Gandalf called over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard over the downpour. “…and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

A moment of silence passed as we waited to see if Dori would respond, which he did not. Bilbo, on the other hand, had a curious question to pose. “Are there any?”

“What?”

“Other wizards,” he clarified.

“There are five of us,” Gandalf replied proudly. “The greatest of our order is Saruman the White.”

My nose wrinkled from behind me, but I kept my comment to myself. I had met the white wizard only once, shortly after Gandalf rescued me from the ruins of my village. Though he was nice enough, I simply cannot bring myself to trust him. Something lingers in the back of my mind when I think of him or when he is near. It whispers to me, tells me not to trust him. Though I have not much choice for he is someone dear and respected by Gandalf who, in turn, is dear and respected by me.

I am thankful to have met him only once and I do so hope to never deal with him in the future.

“Then there are the two blue wizards,” he continued before turning to me with a curious look upon his old face. “Do you know, I’ve quite forgotten their names.”

“And who is the fifth?” Bilbo inquired.

“Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.”

“Is he a great wizard? Or is he… more like you?”

My eyes narrowed, snapping toward the hobbit with a fierceness he had never before seen. His back straightened up in surprise, his horse coming to a stop as mine had before him. “You would do well to watch your tongue, little hobbit. Gandalf is -”

“Now now, my dear Ronan. No need to scare Bilbo,” the wizard sent me a warning look, using the end of his staff to tug on Durnahviir’s reigns. With a snort, the steed started to walk again. “I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others.”

“Can you blame him?” I grunted. “It matters not what race they belong to – men, dwarves, elves,” I glanced behind me. “Even hobbits. They all bring with them trouble and selfishness and greed. Gone are the days when people cared for one another simply because they could rather than because they get paid to do so.”

“Are you not getting paid, then, Miss Sayers?” Bofur questioned, his head tilted to the side.

“I am not. I am here simply as a courtesy to Gandalf and nothing more.”

He whispered something to Ori who rode beside him and the younger dwarf nodded frantically with a smile, but I could not make out what had been shared between them. Most likely an insult of some sort, perhaps aimed at the fact that I am a woman.

“You simply have such a dark view because you never adventure with me anymore,” Gandalf responded matter-of-factly. “There are many people in this world, my dear. Some of them are bad, but many of them are good.”

I only hummed in response, my fingers absentmindedly playing with my belt.

He returned to the previous topic. “Radagast keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the east. And a good thing, too. For always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.”

* * *


	4. Ronan's Memory

Thorin came to a stop outside of a rundown, destroyed home in a clearing to the right of the woods. It was overgrown with foliage, the plant life intertwining as if they were one with the stone and the wood. Something felt… off to me, but I could not quite place what it was that felt so strange about this place. Gandalf clearly shared my sentiments as he got off his horse to further inspect the home.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Thorin declared loudly so that everyone could hear his decree. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”

I slid off of Durnahviir’s back, ignoring the look he sent me as he waited to be dismissed. Gandalf glanced at me when I stepped across the threshold, scanning the rubble that lay around us.

“A farmer and his family used to live here,” he stated, cautiously scanning the area as if it held some clue as to why they no longer resided here.

“Oin, Gloin.”

“Aye.”

“Get a fire going,” Thorin commanded.

“Right you are.”

Gandalf stepped past me, pulling up the end of his robe so as not to trip as he stepped closer to the group. “I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin stomped closer, his gaze hard as he lowered his voice. “I have told you already… I will **not** go near that place.”

“Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice.”

“I do not need their advice.”

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.”

My brow quirked as I leaned against what was left of the wall. This was the first I was hearing of a map, though I am sure if Gandalf cannot read it then neither can I. Languages have never been something I was well versed in and to this day, I can speak only a few words of Sindarin – each one more rude and insulting than the last.

This was not for lack of trying. I had met Elrond several times throughout my life as he is a good friend of the wizards and he has tried on more than half of those times to teach me the language of his people. I did try so as not to disappoint the two men, but my brain seemed incapable of sticking to it.

“Help?” Thorin echoed in disbelief. “A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls. The elves looked on and did _nothing_. And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather… who betrayed my father.”

“You are neither of them,” Gandalf tried to reason with the small dwarf. “I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past.”

Oh, so there’s a key as well, then. Just how much did he neglect to tell me? Though, perhaps the small details are irrelevant to me. I need not know of the existence of a map or a key in order to do that which was asked of me. A key nor a map will assist me in keeping this group safe from harm.

“I did not know that they were yours to keep,” Thorin bit back angrily, causing Gandalf to shake his head in frustration, turning away from the king and nearly stomping toward the group. I sent a look to the king before clicking my tongue and following after the wizard.

Bilbo and Balin were stood with the horses, looking on with concerned faces. It was the hobbit who questioned the wizard as he got closer. “Everything all right? Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” he huffed angrily, his staff stabbing into the ground with each step.

“And who’s that?”

“Myself, Mr. Baggins!” he muttered under his breath as I approached. “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day. Stay here, Ronan.”

I stopped, brow furrowed as he continued on. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Durnahviir nudged my shoulder with his snout before snorting as if amused. For all of his years, Gandalf could certainly throw quite the tantrum when he had enough. Though to his credit, dwarves were incredibly stubborn and frustrating to deal with. To say I am not happy to be stuck with them is quite the understatement.

“Come on, Bombur, we’re hungry,” Thorin’s voice cut through the thickening air.

“Is he coming back?” Bilbo turned to Balin with a worried expression before turning to me. “Will he be alright, Miss Sayers?”

Balin turned his gaze to me and I shrugged, gently pushing Durnahviir’s face away from my own as I turned toward them. “He’s a big boy. I am sure he will be fine. As for whether he will return or not,” I paused, my eyes sliding across the small stature of the hobbit. “I have no doubt that he will once he has cooled down.”

“I see…”

“Bilbo.”

“Yes?”

“Do not call me Miss again.”

“Right,” he snapped his fingers and bobbed his head before pausing. “What shall I call you then?”

“Ronan is fine,” I offered him a small smile, patting him on the head as I passed him by.

* * *

Night had fallen and yet Gandalf had not yet returned. The dwarves had made themselves comfortable around the fire, dishing out bowls of something I would rather not think upon, though it seemed to be a soup or stew of some sort. I kept my distance from them, settled on a rock far enough away so that I could not hear their words but near enough so that I could keep watch over the group while also remaining vigilant for any one that was not among us.

Durnahviir had been released from his duty, roaming free in the surrounding clearing, darting through the trees before coming back out again. Every few moments he would stop and pick at the grass before suddenly darting off as if a warg were on his heels.

The sound of footsteps on the grass sounded from my left and I could sense one of the dwarves as he got closer. “His energy never seems to end, does it?”

My eyes followed the steed as he darted back and forth, a soft hum leaving my throat. “I often used to wonder if he truly was a mere horse. No matter how long he runs for, he never seems to tire. He acts more like man than horse most days.”

“Maybe he’s a man cursed to be a horse,” Bofur joked and I raised a brow at him, making him shift and clear his throat awkwardly.

“Did you need something, dwarf?”

“I brought you some stew before the boys ate it all,” he offered the wooden bowl and I briefly glanced at the thick contents within, the color of mud after a rainstorm.

“I’m not hungry,” I responded, noting the way his smile faltered. “Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned, shifting again. “You have to eat in order to keep your strength up!”

“Quite sure,” I caught sight of movement to the back of the camp and straightened my back, eyes narrowed. “Where is Bilbo going?”

“Oh,” he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the hobbit. “I asked him to take some stew to Fili and Kili.”

I hummed, debating on whether or not I should follow. The horses weren’t too far away from where the dwarves would be sleeping, how much trouble could he possibly find himself in? I released the tension in my shoulders and Durnahviir was suddenly at my side, his neck reaching across my lap so he could sniff at the bowl the dwarf was holding. “That is not for you.”

“He can have it,” Bofur commented before quickly adding, “If you’re really not going to eat it, I mean…”

The steed gave me no chance to respond before he was sticking his tongue into the bowl, nearly knocking it from the dwarf’s hand. He quickly readjusted, holding it firmly with both hands as the horse continued to feast without a care in the world.

I sighed, bringing my hand to my face. “Just what kind of horse are you?”

Bofur laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling under the pale light of the stars. “I’m tellin’ you, he’s a cursed man for sure!”

As if in response, Durnahviir snorted, sending stew spilling over the edge of the bowl and onto the grass. We shared an amused look, his slowly morphing into a smile. Perhaps not all of these dwarves are quite so bad.

The steed easily finished off the bowl before nudging the dwarf gently in the shoulder and then tapping his nose against the bowl. I scowled at him, lightly flicking his back. “You’ve had enough.”

He neighed loudly, stomping his hoof on the floor as he stared at me. I returned the look with narrowed eyes.

Bofur chuckled, gently rubbing his fingers across the horse’s nose. “Gimme a minute, big guy.” I watched as he sprinted back toward the fire, saying something to Bombur before filling the bowl with more stew and returning to my side, holding the bowl firmly before the horse.

“He is spoiled enough as is,” I commented lightly, propping up my elbow upon the horse’s back. “You should not make it worse.”

“Just this once, okay?” Bofur grinned in reply, waiting patiently for the horse to finish his second bowl. Upon doing so, Durnahviir took a few steps back, stretched out his long body and then flopped into the grass, rolling around as if he were a dog. “Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Do as you will.”

Setting the bowl on the ground, the dwarf attempted to hop up onto the rock beside me only to fail. A determined look was set upon his face as he made a couple more attempts, but the rock was too tall for him. I reached my hand out and he quickly wiped his palm against his trousers, hesitantly resting his small hand against my own. With a quick pull, I was able to bring him up onto the rock. He sent me a kind, shy smile. “Thank you, lassie.”

“Mhm.”

A moment of silence passed between us, broken only by the distant sound of the loud dwarves laughing and yelling at one another. About what, I was too far away to hear, but I was sure it was of no importance.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Well…” he wrung his fingers in his lap, searching for the right words. When he finally found them, his voice was cautious and he would not look up from the sleeping horse in front of us. “When Balin was tellin’ the story about Thorin and the orcs… your expression changed to somethin’ fierce. Did you…”

I pressed my lips together into a thin line as I turned my gaze to the starry sky, debating on whether or not I should share my tale with him. I often chose not to because I cannot stand the looks of pity people give me when they learn of my past. I have no need for empty apologies or consoling words. They do not change the past, nor do they make the passage of time any easier to bear.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he spoke softly, lifting his hand toward my shoulder but then he pulled back, seeming to think better of doing so. “I was just curious, is all.”

My eyes slid closed as I leaned back, my hands propped up on the rock behind me. The memories slowly rose to the surface of my mind, the sounds around me warping and twisting until they were finally replaced by the sounds of that day. “I was only five when the orcs raided the small village I lived in, tucked against the side of the Blue Mountains. The last of my bloodline resided there, some twenty men and women, along with their children. My clan used to be much bigger, in the thousands, I was told, but after so many years of being hunted down like table scraps, our numbers became quite small.”

I could hear him shift beside me.

“My people were looked upon as nothing more than weapons, tools to be used by others. Orcs, men, elves, dwarves – it made no difference. Some would simply ask us to join them in battle, others would attempt to use force, and then there were those that would not accept a rejection. If they could not use us, they would see us destroyed for their trouble. And they did… for a time. The world seemed to forget about us as our numbers dwindled, and that small village found peace. We lived our days without worry or fear. After thousands of years of bloodshed and death, they were more than willing to embrace this peace and act as if the world outside no longer existed. But it did still exist, and so did the hunger for power.”

My brow furrowed as the memories became clearer.

“It was late one night when the orcs came. I had been fast asleep, awoken by the screams of a woman outside my window. When I looked… I saw my neighbor’s chest being ripped open as the orc feasted upon her flesh. The darkness was lit up by the blinding lights of the fires they had set, eating away at the village. They tried to run, but they were caught. They tried to hide, but they were found. They tried to fight, but they were slain. I… am the only one that survived that night. I am the last of the Dragon-rider clan.”

Bofur’s eyes widened and he exhaled shakily. “Dragon-rider… you’re really…?”

“Yes.”

He chewed on the corner of his lip before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper. “How did you… survive?”

My eyes slowly opened, a frown on my lips. “To be honest, I am not sure. Luck perhaps, though Gandalf insists that I was meant to survive for whatever reason. He is the one that found me, clutching my father’s charred corpse as if that would somehow save him. When I first awoke to the screaming, I was frozen at the window for several moments before finally fleeing from my bed to search for my father. By that point, our home had already been set ablaze from the outside and the fire spread quickly, eating away at the wooden roof. It collapsed on top of me and I could not free myself.”

My hand quickly moved to my shoulder and it felt as if I could feel the flames licking at my back once more, as if I could smell the foul stench of burnt flesh again. The scars upon my back will never fully heal or fade away, a reminder of what I went through.

“While I suffered an injury that will never fade, it was a small price to pay in exchange for my life.”

“I…” he gave a sharp exhale, fingers curling around the fabric of his trousers. “I am so sorry, lassie.”

I tried hard not to cringe at the familiar words, one I had heard time and time again when people realize who I am. That is why I stopped telling people and yet here I sit, telling it to someone I have only recently come to know. “Sorry solves nothing when you had no part in that which you are apologizing for,” I retorted.

“Right… you’re right…”

Silence fell between us, more awkward than it had been previously and I frowned, wondering if it was my turn to say that I was sorry, but I didn’t get the chance. A roar sounded in the distance, scaring off a flock of birds that had been nesting in the trees. I shot off the rock, body tense.

“Was that…?”

“Trolls,” I confirmed, snapping my gaze to the camp but it was empty, not a dwarf in sight. “They are gone!”

“What?” Bofur slid off the rock, eyes widening. “They were just there!”

With a scowl, I rushed over to Durnahviir, kicking his leg with my foot. “I command you wake up!”

The steed’s eyes slowly blinked open before his body responded, jumping to his hooves with his head tilted back, nose twitching as he sniffed the air.

“Come, Bofur,” I ordered, giving him no room to reply before I picked him up and placed him upon the horse’s back, pulling myself up behind him. “Hold tight, Bofur. Make haste, Durnahviir!”

Bofur clenched the reigns tightly as Durnahviir raised up before bolting into the forest, jumping over raised branches and felled trees. It wasn’t long before the sounds of multiple voices reached my ears and the steed slowed to a walk, snorting quietly so as not to raise any alarm. A light was shining through the bushes up ahead.

“We ain’t got all night. Dawn ain’t far away,” came a deep voice that I didn’t recognize. “Let’s get a move on! I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

I slid down from the horse, my hand finding its place on the handle of my sword as I slowly approached the bushes, mindful of where my feet were stepping. Bofur shifted, about to clamber down when I held up my free hand, making him take pause. Slowly, I parted the side of the bush enough so that I could peer through it. Three trolls were sitting around a large fire and several of the dwarves were tied to the metal pole above it.

They were trying to roast them alive.

* * *


	5. Elven Blades

“What do we do?” Bofur whispered as he leaned forward on the horse, one hand clutching the reigns and the other his weapon. “We have ta do somethin’!”

“Stay with Durnahviir, I will handle it.”

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head before throwing his leg over the side and jumping down, his feet crunching on the fallen leaves. Both of us froze for a moment to make sure the trolls hadn’t heard us. “You’re not going without me.”

“You will just slow me down.”

“Don’t worry,” he grinned, gripping his hammer with both hands. “I won’t get in your way.”

“Wait!”

I snapped my head back toward the bushes at Bilbo’s sudden shout and Bofur leaned up on his tip toes to see through. Just what is that hobbit planning on doing?

“You are making a terrible mistake.”

“You can’t reason with them,” Dori cried from where he was tied to the metal. “They’re half-wits!”

I clicked my tongue. “Insulting them certainly is not the best strategy.”

“He’s right, though,” Bofur shrugged.

“Half-wits? What does that make us?” Nori questioned, also tied to the pole.

“I meant with the, uh,” Bilbo managed to pull himself to his feet despite his small body being incased in a cloth sack. He hopped toward them. “With the seasoning.”

The troll on the right squinted at him, leaning closer. “What about the seasoning?”

“Well have you smelt them?” the hobbit questioned with a smile, glancing at the pile of dwarves behind him. “You’re gonna need something stronger than sage before you plat this lot up.”

“Traitor!” The dwarves started to struggle, sending insults and curses toward him.

“He’s helping the trolls?” Bofur muttered, his brow furrowed.

“He’s stalling for time,” I commented. “Very smart, that one.”

“You don’t… think I smell, right?”

I sent him a deadpan look and he smiled sheepishly.

“What do you know about cooking dwarf?” the troll on the left demanded, not stopping the turning of the pole.

“Shut up,” the right troll glared at him before stepping closer. “Let the, uh, flurgaburburhobbit talk.”

Bilbo sent him a thankful smile before looking between the three trolls. “The secret to cooking dwarf is, um…”

“Yes? Come on.”

“It’s, uhh…”

“Tell us the secret.”

“Yes, yes. I’m telling you. The secret is…”

I smacked my face with a sigh. “He’s losing it…”

Bofur chuckled. “I dunno, I think this is kinda amusing.”

“Of course you do.”

Durnahviir snorted from behind us, soft enough to not be heard by those on the other side of the bush but loud enough to convey his own amusement. I shot him a look and he stomped his hoof.

“See? He agrees!”

“Being agreed with by a horse is not something to brag about, dwarf.”

“To…” Bilbo’s face suddenly lit up as he found the word his brain had been grasping at. “…skin them first!”

The dwarves were not happy, screaming and yelling at the hobbit as they struggled harder than before. Even Bofur took a step back, his nose wrinkling at the thought.

“I’m beginning to wonder if he’s really on our side…”

I grunted in reply, slowly pulling my sword from its sheath.

“Tom, get me filleting knife,” the right troll ordered, not taking his eyes off of the hobbit.

“I’ll get you, ya little -” Gloin cried out, struggling against the sack his body was encased in.

“I won’t forget that,” Dwalin promised as he pointed angrily at the hobbit. “I won’t forget it!”

“What a load of rubbish,” the left troll rolled his eyes. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scarf them, I say. Boots and all.”

“He’s right,” agreed the troll in the middle as he came around toward the pile. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf,” he grabbed Bombur, holding him high up off the ground. “Nice and crunchy~”

“N-No-Not that one,” Bilbo panicked. “He’s infected!”

“Huh?!” the middle troll that had been sticking his tongue toward Bombur suddenly recoiled with wide eyes.

“You what?”

“Yeah, he’s got worms… in his… tubes.”

“Ew!”

Bombur was dropped onto the pile, landing across Kili as the troll recoiled, wiping his hand furiously on the cloth that he wore on his body.

“In fact, they all have. They are infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.”

“Parasites?” Oin leaned toward Kili. “Did he say parasites?”

“We don’t have parasites!” Kili protested angrily, making the hobbit groan. “You have parasites!”

“I’ve heard enough,” I muttered, parting the bush as I hopped to the other side, brandishing my blade. “You have that which belongs to me. Release the dwarves or you will be slain where you stand, trolls.”

“Another one!”

“This time a woman, more meat to eat.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had woman.”

“Ronan!” Kili cried, his voice filled with annoyance and relief. “Don’t listen to him, I don’t have parasites!”

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face, keeping my eyes planted on the trolls before me as I turned my body slightly. My left foot was placed sideways behind my right, both hands holding the handle of the blade as it was poised in front of me. “This is your last warning. If you wish to keep whatever miserable life you lead, I suggest you do as I say.”

“I’ll handle this,” Left troll huffed as he stepped away from the pole. He reached out his large hand to grab me and my eyes narrowed, preparing my body to strike.

“Leave her alone!” Kili yelled.

“Don’t you touch her!” Fili cried.

“Don’t hurt her!” Ori pleaded.

At the last possible second, I stepped to the right to avoid his hand, flipping the blade and stabbing it straight through his hand. He roared in pain, stumbling backward. I seized my chance, slicing the blade across his ankle to ensure that he fell. And fall he did, straight into the fire behind him. His back hit the metal pole, knocking it down and away from the fire. The dwarves screamed and hollered as it rolled backward.

Right troll growled, picking up a frying pan and swinging it at me. I dodged backward with a scowl, twisting my body around but before I could strike, Bofur came rushing from the bushes with his hammer poised. Since the troll was focused on me, he was not able to react in time and took the weapon to the gut, making him stumble backward.

“Bofur!” the dwarves cried in relief.

The three trolls righted themselves and started to advance. Movement caught my eye and my gaze flickered to the rockface behind them, a smile coming to my lips as Gandalf appeared, the sun shining across his back.

“The dawn will take you all,” he bellowed.

“Who’s that?”

“No idea.”

“Can we eat him too?”

With both hands, Gandalf slammed his staff down onto the stone, splitting it down the middle. Sunlight poured through the crack and, as soon as the light touched them, they started to turn to stone where they stood, cries of pain and annoyance leaving their lips. A breath of silence and then the dwarves started to laugh loudly as the sun shined down upon them.

“Get your foot out of my back!” Dwalin cried, struggling against the rope.

Gandalf’s eyes met mine and he nodded, though he did not look happy. I cannot blame him – he trusted me to keep them safe and they were almost made into a smelly dish not fit for anyone to eat.

Bilbo released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, leaning against my side. “Thank goodness.”

I turned toward him, untying the string at the top of the sack. It fell to the ground and he stepped out of it before heading over to the pile to help them. I approached the pole, kneeling down and carefully slipping my blade beneath the rope and slicing through it. I offered Dori my hand, which he took with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, lassi.”

Gandalf made his way down, observing the scene before tapping one of the trolls with his staff. I approached him, bowing my head. “Forgive me, Gandalf. I… got distracted.”

“I figured,” he regarded me for a moment before a soft smile came to his lips. “But you did come to their rescue, so you’re forgiven.”

Thorin stepped over to us, regarding the wizard suspiciously. “Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead,” he answered.

“What brought you back?”

“Looking behind.”

I quirked a brow at him and he winked before turning back to the king.

“Nasty business. Still, they’re all in one piece.”

“No thanks to your burglar.”

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. “Do you not understand? I assumed that you were wiser than that, but it appears that I assumed wrong.”

“What did you say?” his eyes narrowed at me and Gandalf stepped closer, putting his shoulder between the two of us.

“He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.”

Thorin’s face shifted to one of realization, his eyes widening. He sent me a look that could almost be portrayed as one of apology before nodding his head. This one is going to be trouble for us. King or not, his attitude will be his downfall.

“They must have come down from the Ettenmoors,” Gandalf mused thoughtfully.

“Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?”

“Not for an age,” the wizard shook his head. “Not since a darker power ruled these lands.”

“Do you believe that they were run off?” I questioned him, sharing a concerned look with the small king.

“It is possible. They wouldn’t have much reason otherwise,” Gandalf turned his gaze to the sky, quickly filling with bright light. “They could not have moved in daylight.”

“There must be a cave nearby,” Thorin realized, turning his head to scan the area around us.

“What purpose would it serve to check?” I inquired, quirking a brow at the two males. “There may even be another within.”

“It is worth checking out,” Thorin responded resolutely before turning and heading away from us, looking for the cave.

I clicked my tongue. “Stubborn dwarves.”

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Gandalf questioned, a sparkle in his eye as he raised his brow. I could not be sure, but something told me that he was partly referring to me. I chose not to comment.

“Durnahviir,” I called out, waiting for the horse to make his way through the bushes. He lightly tapped Bofur on the shoulder as he passed by, earning a gentle pat on his side and a smile from the dwarf. “Can you smell the cave that the trolls were staying in? I imagine it does not smell well.”

In response, he tilted his head toward the sky, large nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. It was not until the breeze kicked up that he finally caught the scent, turning around and heading off to the south. Gandalf and I followed, the rest of the group realizing that they, too, should follow. It was not long before we found the cave in question, the smell strong before we even approached the opening.

Durnahviir snorted, stomping his hooves on the ground before taking a few steps backward. My nose wrinkled but Gandalf did not hesitate to step into the cave, using his hand to pull up his robe. With a sigh, I followed close behind him.

“Oh, what’s that stench?”

“It’s a troll-hoard,” Gandalf explained. “Be careful what you touch.”

“Seems a shame just to leave it lying around,” Bofur commented as he stopped in front of a pile of golden coins. “Anyone could take it.”

“Agreed,” said Gloin. “Nori.”

“Yeah?”

“Get a shovel.”

I stepped farther into the cave, keeping close to Gandalf with my hand resting upon the handle of my sword, just in case something were to happen, though I did not expect it to. Thorin reached for one of the various weapons sitting in barrels against the back wall, covered in dust and cobwebs that had my skin crawling. If there were spiders here, I would most certainly lose it.

“Hold this,” Thorin thrusted the torch in my face and I sent him a look but took it nonetheless, holding it as he picked up another sword, examining them closely. “These swords were not made by any troll.”

I raised the torch, squinting against the low light as my eyes roamed the blades within his hands. Looking upon them, I had the sense that they were made by elven hands, but I did not think it wise to mention that in the dwarf’s presence.

Curious, Gandalf turned toward us, taking one of the swords from the small king. “Nor were they made by any smith among men,” he carefully lifted the sword, allowing it to slide just enough from its sheath in order to see the blade. “These were forged in Gondolin… by the high elves of the First Age.”

Thorin’s face, once full of curiosity and wonderment, turned dark and full of rage at the wizard’s words and he started to place the weapon back in its place, earning an annoyed look from the wizard.

“You could not wish for a finer blade,” stated Gandalf, making the king take pause.

“He is right, you know,” I added from beside him. “The elves are many things – mostly selfish creatures who hide from the woes of the world, but their craft is unparalleled. It would be foolish to refuse such a weapon.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, lass.”

“And I do not need your permission to give it, dwarf.”

We shared a heated glare for a moment before he grunted, pulling the blade from its sheath with vigor. Despite his ill will toward the elves, even I could see that he appreciated the blade as he looked it over and for good reason.

Gandalf sheathed his blade again, nose wrinkling as the dust and webbing stuck to his hand. Behind us, the dwarves were scrambling to dig a hole in the ground where they stuck a box of golden coins and trinkets. I stopped beside Dwalin, the both of us looking down at the three.

“What are you doing, exactly?”

“We’re making a long-term deposit,” answered Gloin.

Dwalin chuckled as he watched them covering the chest with dirt. His gaze met mine when he glanced over and the amused look quickly dropped as his eyes narrowed. I had not yet earned his trust and I had to wonder if I would. It mattered little to me, really. I do not need their trust in order to protect them. I am not here to befriend these dwarves though I have no intent to make things more tense than they presently are.

“Let’s get out of this foul place,” Thorin ordered, his eyes sweeping the cave one last time before he started up the incline toward the exit. “Come on, let’s go.”

* * *


	6. The Brown Wizard

“Something’s coming!” Thorin cried out, pulling his sword from its sheath.

I stepped up beside him, dropping the unlit torch to the ground as I pulled my own blade from its sheath, eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound. The other dwarves readied their weapons and Gandalf moved to the front to stand on the other side of the king.

“Stay together!” ordered the wizard, drawing his blade. “Hurry now! Arm yourselves!”

The branches cracked as something moved quickly through them, the leaves crunching loudly. Whatever was coming, it was coming at a fast speed and without regard of being heard. My eyes squinted as the bushes rustled, quickly giving way as something shot through them.

“Thieves!” cried the man, riding through our ranks on a sleigh pulled by rabbits. “Fire! Murder!” he finally came to a stop, his eyes wide and wild as he looked around at us.

“Radagast,” Gandalf heaved a sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders. “It’s Radagast the Brown.”

The tension in the air slowly started to dissolve as the wizard moved closer to the newest addition, the dwarves slowly lowering their weapons but keeping them close just in case. I quirked a brow at the man, taking in his haggard appearance. The brown cloak he wore was torn in several places and seemed to be sewn together with several different types of material and patterns. His hair and beard were matted and knotted and he appeared to have some sort of moss on the side of his face.

This is the wizard that Gandalf spoke of? Well, I do know that appearances can not be judged so easily. Beorn, for example, has the appearance of a cold, angry man that you wish not to mess with. And while it is true that he is not one to be trifled with, he is quite soft at heart, a kind man who does his best at every thing he does.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong,” replied the brown wizard with a shaking voice. “Something’s _terribly_ wrong.”

“Yes?”

Radagast lifted his hand to point at the grey wizard, his lips parting, but no sound escaped him. A confused look marred his features as his eyes slipped to the side but they quickly snapped back to the taller wizard, realization now upon his face only to slip away once more into confusion. He did this several times.

I exchanged a look with Bofur who stood at my left. Something about this wizard seemed… off. Not in the way that he is bad or possesses evil intent. He just seems a bit odd.

“Just give me a minute,” he finally said, seeming quite distressed. “Oh, I had a thought and now I’ve lost it! It was right there on the tip of my tongue,” he sent a desperate look to Gandalf, pointing at his mouth. His words, once clear, were now muffled as he kept his lips parted through his speech. “It’s not a thought at all. It’s a silly old…” he stuck his tongue out, revealing a small insect resting upon it.

Bilbo stepped back, face twisted in disbelief and a tinge of disgust. “My word…”

Gandalf reached forward, carefully picking up the insect between his fingers, holding it up to inspect.

“Stick insect,” Radagast commented simply with a goofy smile upon his lips. He held out his hand and the grey wizard dropped it into his palm.

Gandalf’s gaze swept across the group before he cleared his throat. “Give us a moment, won’t you?”

For a moment, the dwarves hesitated before finally shuffling away. Thorin’s narrowed eyes watched them closely and, realizing that he had no intention of leaving, the wizard turned his gaze to me.

“Ronan, come with us, dear.”

“Sure,” I spared the king no glance as I passed by, following the two wizards deeper into the wood to avoid the prying ears of the dwarves. Gandalf pulled out his pipe, turning his back to the group.

Radagast did not spare them or me a look as he talked quickly to the grey wizard. “The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf.” He quickly looked around as if scared of being overheard, his voice lowered. “A darkness has fallen over it.”

“What kind of darkness?” I inquired curiously, leaning back against one of the many trees that surrounded us.

“An evil one,” he insisted with fear-stricken eyes. “Nothing grows anymore. At least nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worse are the webs.”

“Webs?” my shoulders tensed, hand going to the handle of my sword of its own accord. A chill crept down my spine as I attempted to not think of what he was implying. “You do not mean…?”

Radagast met my eyes and gave a gentle nod. “Spiders. Giant ones.”

My entire being shivered at the word. Fear is not often something I find myself feeling. I do not fear death nor do I fear living. Insects do not make me squeamish and neither does the thought of war. Orcs anger me, but they do not instill fear within my mind. That is reserved for one thing only. The one thing in all of Middle-Earth that I am unable to handle.

Even small spiders fill me with much dread and if they are truly as large as he seems to be indicating… I simply cannot fathom such a thing. I swallowed the thick lump that had formed within my throat. “Please do not speak that word aloud, master wizard.”

Gandalf knew of my fear though I am confident in saying that even if he did not know, he could most likely tell of my fear simply through my body’s reaction to the mere word itself. I am a warrior who has fought orcs and trolls, slain goblins by the handfuls and yet… I can not even stand against one of those foul creatures. I would rather face an army of Sauron’s opposed to one of those beasts.

The grey wizard sent me a knowing look and I shook my head, turning my back to them as I tried to control the shivers that threatened to overcome my body. I could see the dwarves in the distance. Some of them clearly had no interest in us and our conversation, others were trying to appear as if they did not while trying to subtly listen. And then there was Thorin who was staring at the grey wizard as if his very being would cease to exist if he so much as blinked.

He was not one that enjoyed being left out of the loop. Though, if I were to be honest, I would gladly switch places with him at this moment.

Bofur glanced up, laughing at something Ori had just said to him, but his expression fell when his eyes locked with my own. Was I truly so transparent? Normally, I could easily pretend as if nothing ailed me, but the subject at hand… it appears as if I am not quite as strong as I hoped to be.

Radagast sent me a confused look before nodding. “Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant or I am not a wizard. I followed their trail. They came from… Dol Guldur.”

Gandalf slowly turned toward the brown wizard, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned.”

“No, Gandalf,” Radagast shook his head softly, a worried expression upon his face. “‘Tis not. A dark power dwells in there… such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits… of the dead.”

“A necromancer?” I wondered, turning back toward them. I was thankful to be on a different subject and could only hope that those creatures were not among the dead spirits being risen. “Does such a power exist anymore?”

“I saw him,” Radagast insisted, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. “From out of the darkness… the necromancer has come.” He seemed to get caught in thought for a moment before snapping to, nearly jumping out of his skin.

I frowned at him. “Are you alright, master wizard?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. “Yes… yes my dear, sorry.”

“Try a little old Toby,” Gandalf suggested, using his long beard to wipe the mouthpiece of his pipe before handing it over to the brown wizard. “It’ll help settle your nerves.”

“Your beard, Gandalf?” I questioned. “Would it not be better to use your robes.”

“Why of course not. The beard gives it flavor.”

My nose wrinkled as I watched the brown wizard take it without hesitation, his eyes crossing.

“In,” Gandalf instructed, waiting a moment. “And out.”

Radagast’s body relaxed as he exhaled the smoke through his nose, his eyes twitching almost comically.

“Now,” Gandalf began with a serious expression. “A necromancer. Are you sure?”

The brown wizard reached into his coat, producing a blade wrapped in brown cloth. Cautiously, Gandalf took the sword, pulling the top strap free so he could view the blade inside. I stepped forward to get a closer look but it seemed to be a simple blade. Nothing special stuck out to me, nor did I sense anything from it. The disbelief upon Gandalf’s face, however, made me wonder.

“That is not… from the world of the living,” Radagast concluded with an almost conspiratory tone.

My lips parted to question the two men when the howl of a warg broke through the air. I could feel the panic begin to rise and I quickly pulled my blade from its sheath, stepping in a circle as my eyes scanned the tree line. Branches snapped and I whirled around toward the dwarves, finding a warg on the rockface above them. Directly beneath was Bofur and Bilbo, their backs facing the beast.

My heart seized within my chest and my feet pushed off the ground without my order to do so. The warg leapt at the dwarves, knocking several of them off their feet and I quickened my pace, slicing through the air at the warg’s neck. It cried out with a high-pitched squeal, rearing back to leap once more, but it met the end of my blade upon doing so.

“Kili! Get your bow!”

More wargs began to appear, coming from every side. We were surrounded and I knew the orcs would not be far behind. Kili shot an arrow through the face of one before it could leap onto his uncle and Dwalin smacked another with his axe. The final was slain by Thorin himself.

“Warg scouts,” Thorin grunted angrily, pulling his sword from the beasts side. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo echoed in disbelief, squeezing his small body closer to Gandalf.

“Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” Gandalf demanded, quickly moving closer to the small king.

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one, I swear!”

I looked upon the king’s eyes and nodded before turning my attention to Gandalf. “The dwarf tells the true. He told no one.”

Gandalf did not seem happy with the answer as he looked around the area, his mind clearly working in overdrive.

“What in Durin’s name is going on?” Thorin demanded, taking a step forward.

“You are being hunted.”

“We have to get out of here,” Dwalin grunted.

“We can’t!” Ori came rushing over the hill, his voice full of panic and fear. “We have no ponies! They bolted!”

“I’ll draw them off,” Radagast declared with a surprising amount of confidence within his voice.

Gandalf whipped around. “These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you.”

The brown wizard took a step forward with a grin. “These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try~”

I stepped up beside Gandalf as the brown wizard climbed back onto his sled. “I can offer assistance, master wizard.”

“How so?”

I smiled at him before bringing my fingers to my lips and whistling. It was a low frequency sound similar to that of a bird. A moment of silence passed us before the sound of hooves stomping loudly on the forest floor reached my ears. Durnahviir came leaping over the hill to our right, nearly knocking into Dwalin and Balin before coming to a stop and snorting loudly.

I turned to him and he waited for my orders, bobbing his head and scraping his hoof across the ground a couple of times. “You will assist Radagast the Brown in keeping the wargs busy so that we can escape. You must not get caught and you must not allow the wizard to fall behind. As soon as we are clear, you are to run as far as you must in order to lose them. Do not falter, Durnahviir, and you shall be rewarded handsomely. Do you understand, my precious partner?”

He neighed softly, butting his nose against my shoulder. My fingers brushed against the silken hair of his face before I stepped back, sending the brown wizard a nod. Together, the two of them took off, making much noise in order to draw their ire.

Be as the wind, my dear steed.

* * *


End file.
